


Better Days

by hjea



Category: Fringe
Genre: 2036, F/M, Future, Gen, Whiskey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hjea/pseuds/hjea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are inherited, and Etta keeps a bottle of old whiskey on hand for the bad days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Days

**Author's Note:**

> I disclaim everything beyond a sudden and passionate love for these two new characters. And an ongoing appreciation for Dunham Dinners.

Face buried in his arms in one of Fringe Division’s back rooms, Simon jolted in surprise as something clunked down on the table beside his head. He looked up, and came face to face with an old dusty bottle, and then further up to the one face that could make the day the slightest bit better.    
  
“I thought we could use this after today.” Etta said, looking grim but determined as she produced a pair of mugs alongside the bottle. Simon rubbed a thumb over the dusty label, just barely making out an old whiskey name that sparked a distant memory.    
  
“Where on earth did you get this?”    
  
Etta flicked her eyes away, her expression half-guilt and half-pride as she pulled out the chair to sit opposite him. “It’s probably better if you don’t know.” She poured an extremely generous amount in each cup and nudged one across the table towards him. “Needless to say I consider it a completely necessary risk for this job.” She lifted her drink, tilting the cup towards him in a quick salute, and then threw its entire contents back in a smooth gesture.   
  
Simon pulled a face as the harsh whiskey hit his throat, and then looked up at Etta who was smacking her lips in appreciation.   
  
“Are you even old enough to drink this?”   
  
“Please.” The younger agent rolled her eyes. “You know Broyles gave us all a shot of this stuff when we signed up? Said we were all either crazy or stupid to join Fringe Division, and since we’d probably end up dead anyway we might as well enjoy ourselves.”   
  
Simon chuckled and poured another round in their chipped mugs. “Charming man.”   
  
Etta’s mouth quirked upward in amusement, and she raised her cup. “To Broyles?”   
  
Simon snorted and raised his own. “Or, to Fringe Division — and what’s left of it!”   
  
Etta’s grin faltered then, and Simon could see some dark pain flash in her eyes before she pushed it away. She smiled tightly, recovering, and tapped the rim of her mug against his in a dull clink.   
  
“To Fringe Division.”   
  
Silently, they both tipped the drinks back, downing the whiskey and setting down the empty mugs in a single movement. Simon glanced at Etta, her head had ducked down now, blonde hair falling forward to hide her face. He wanted to tell the young woman that she wasn’t as good at hiding her feelings as she thought. That sometimes he could see how keenly she felt every sorrow they encountered like they were her own, like they reminded her of her own pain that she struggled so hard with to keep hidden. He wanted to tell her that she could trust him with this secret, whatever it was, because he would never—could never—betray her. 

  
He wanted to tell her a lot of things.   
  
Instead, Simon reached out and touched her wrist. “Etta,” he whispered softly. She raised her head. “Today wasn’t our day, but it will be again. Odds are it has to be, sooner or later.”   
  
Etta nodded, smile back in place if a bit forced, her wide eyes fixed on him in appreciation. “You know us, never down for long.”   
  
Simon laughed. “That’s right, never down for long.”   
  
Etta picked up the bottle and held it toward him, sloshing the last of its contents around experimentally. “What do you say; one last round before we call it a night?”   
  
Simon could feel the whiskey he had already drunk beginning to roll around his stomach in warm waves, sending out loose languorous tendrils along his limbs to the tips of his fingers and toes. He knew only a little bit more would be needed to send his mind into a hazy cloud, where all he could see would be soft blonde hair and wide bright eyes looking into his. He could imagine all his reservations dropping forgotten at his feet.   
  
“Better not.”   
  
Etta looked disappointed, maybe even a little bit hurt, and Simon smiled apologetically until she rolled her eyes graciously and looked her normal self again.   
  
“I’ve got a few experiments I want to check on.”   
  
Etta nodded, and screwed the cap on her bottle before tucking it away in a pocket in her coat. “I should get home.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Curfew.”   
  
“Right.” Simon stood, a little awkwardly, and stepped toward the door. Before he passed Etta he stopped, unable to resist, and touched her once more, softly, on the shoulder.   
  
“We’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”   
  
She nodded, and then stood so she was facing him, face tilted upward with an open, longing expression. “For our day, right Simon?”   
  
He stepped away. “Yes. For our better day.”

  
Walking down the hall, Simon wondered if it was a strength or weakness on his part to keep her at a distance. There was no point denying there was  something there. But he couldn’t help feel that he had to wait for... what? A better world to spontaneously appear around them? It seemed unlikely; no matter his allegiance to the resistance, he couldn’t put their lives on hold for it. Still, there was something important inside of him telling him to be patient and to wait. 

  
Simon sighed. Maybe tomorrow would be their day after all. 


End file.
